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"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?"

"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would not be of much



use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be

invaluable--simply invaluable!"



"Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children," said the

Warden. "And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early,



as I've some business to attend to." The children seized the Professor's

hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried



him away. I followed respectfully behind.

CHAPTER 2.



L'AMIE INCONNUE.

As we entered the breakfast-saloon, the Professor was saying "--and



he had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for

him, my Lady. This way, my Lady," he added, "this way!" And then, with



(as it seemed to me) most superfluouspoliteness, he flung open the

door of my compartment, and ushered in "--a young and lovely lady!"



I muttered to myself with some bitterness. "And this is, of course,

the opening scene of Vol. I. She is the Heroine. And I am one of those



subordinate characters that only turn up when needed for the

development of her destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the



church, waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"

"Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words I heard



(oh that too obsequious Guard!), "next station but one." And the door

closed, and the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous



throb of the engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic

monster, whose very circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we were



once more speeding on our way. "The lady had a perfectly formed nose,"

I caught myself saying to myself, "hazel eyes, and lips--" and here



it occurred to me that to see, for myself, what "the lady" was really

like, would be more satisfactory than much speculation.



I looked round cautiously, and--was entirely disappointed of my

hope. The veil, which shrouded her whole face, was too thick for me to



see more than the glitter of bright eyes and the hazy outline of what

might be a lovely oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an



equally unlovely one. I closed my eyes again, saying to myself

"--couldn't have a better chance for an experiment in Telepathy!



I'll think out her face, and afterwards test the portrait with the

original."



At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my

swift mind,' now hither, now hither" target="_blank" title="ad.到那里 a.那边的">thither, in a way that I felt sure would



have made AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as

provokingly blank as ever--a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical



diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose

and a mouth. Gradually, however, the conviction came upon me that I



could, by a certain concentration of thought, think the veil away,

and so get a glimpse of the mysterious face--as to which the two



questions, "is she pretty?" and "is she plain?", still hung suspended,

in my mind, in beautiful equipoise.



Success was partial--and fitful--still there was a result: ever and

anon, the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but,



before I could fully realise the face, all was dark again. In each such

glimpse, the face seemed to grow more childish and more innocent:



and, when I had at last thought the veil entirely away, it was,

unmistakeably, the sweet face of little Sylvie!



"So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie," I said to myself,

"and this is the reality. Or else I've really been with Sylvie,



and this is a dream! Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?"

To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take



this sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange

fishing-town on the North coast, and read it over again:-



"DEAR OLD FRIEND,

"I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly



be to you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I

shall be ready to give you all the benefit of such medical skill as



I have: only, you know, one mustn't violateprofessional etiquette!

And you are already in the hands of a first-rate London doctor,



with whom it would be utter affectation for me to pretend to compete. (I make no doubt he

is right in saying the heart is affected:



all your symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have

already done in my doctorial capacity--secured you a bedroom on the



ground-floor, so that you will not need to ascend the stairs at all.

"I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance with your



letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song,

'Oh for Friday nicht! Friday's lang a-coming!'



"Yours always,

"ARTHUR FORESTER.






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